The Earthling
by Decce
Summary: Three years after the two brothers had believed they had seen the last of Amestris, Edward and Alphonse Elric must once again embark on a treacherous journey to satisfy the law of equivalent exchange.
1. Prologue

This is my first fanfic ever, so please be easy on me! If you have any suggestions for improvement, I beg you on my knees to offer them. If not, well ... enjoy x).

**Summary:** Three years after the two brothers had believed they had seen the last of Amestris, Edward and Alphonse Elric must once again embark on a treacherous journey to satisfy the law of equivalent exchange.

**Spoilers:** Many! Beware! If you dislike spoilers and don't want to find out what happened during the movie or whatever, don't read! This is sort of like a sequel to Conqueror of Shambala - with a few extra twists (wink wink).

**Pairings:** Ah-huh. Now, I know I have many readers who all have different view points, so I'll include EdxWinry, EdxRoy, Royai, Elricest, EdxNoah, AlxNoah, AlxWinry, and whatever else as much as possible. Though, admittedly, maybe the storywill tilta bit more to the Royai, Elricest, and EdxWinry side, I promise I'll do myself to satisfy everybody as much as possible! And if, well, you don't really care about pairings - this story is still great for you as well.

**Other Notes:** I get an infinite case of deadly writer's block o.O. Though I'll update as much as I can, I swear it.

**Disclaimer:** Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me, nor do the characters, though the storyline and everything else does.

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**Prologue**

**New York City, The United States of America**

"Edward Elric?" a man oftwo and thirty peered over his ebony reading glasses, his finely cut mustache and groomed hair a spectacular symbol of his enormous wealth. He wore a black, slackened buttoned coat with a white collared shirt and pure black tie underneath, whilst his simple colorless pants matched perfectly with two splendidly polished shoes, and as the blond haired man before him had to admit, looked rich enough to dazzle a king. He held in his elegantly adorned fingers wads of documents, clutching them tightly in a manner that suggested a burning hatred of paperwork; his legs were crossing railroad tracks, and his desk, a cedar-smelling masterpiece of burnt wood and rosettes, was sure enough to glamor all the woodcutters of the world. He held an air of purity, of tumultuous dignity, as though somebody had offered him the essence of life and he had gladly drank from and such a historic item. Why, even the room he was sitting in could have made the emperors of China swoon with jealousy! Precious jade antiques embroidered the walls with lavish sofas and an intricately made coffee table - Edward felt an immediate annoyance to the familiarity of smugness.

"Yes, Mr. Mustang?" Ed almost winced. Even the last names were the same! What did this world not have?

"You wanted to get a job as an investigator ... ?" he raised his eyebrows, as though the very thought of a man as short and young as Edward was horrifically repulsive.

"Yes, Mr. Mustang." Why, oh why, did he have to address this stupid stupid ignorant ignorant man so formally?

"May I ask why?" Mustang was now smiling like a know-it-all God, his aura of superiority disastrous tsunamis to Edward's waning patience. Edward has visited the man the week before this, and the week before that, and the week before that ... this was becoming completely tiring already. Why did the stupid man have to talk like they had just just met?

"I would like to do this world justice," Ed answered with all the honesty of the universe.

"Why?"

"Because there's so many wrong things going on here. Somebody needs to come and correct it."

Mustang looked heartily at Ed, a manic twinkle in his eye - of which Ed automatically disliked. The Mustang of this world was far too much like the Mustang of the other world; two twins in opposite dimensions. It was as though the Gate had decided Ed had not suffered enough torture, and decisively but mortifyingly placed an alter right under Edward's twitching nose, the ugly stench of obeying orders and becoming - once again - a dog repulsive enough to make Edward pinch it.

"Well," Mustang glanced at Edward, obviously amused to the point of laughing, "looks like you really don't change your views. You do realize that there's a war going on?"

"That's what's wrong!" Ed retorted, suddenly reminding himself to be respectful. "I need to make this world a better place."

"Then why don't you become a soldier?" the question resonated through the room like a gong in Edward's head. "Instead of asking me to send you there on American police investigations, why don't you go to the front of the line and fight the Nazis?"

Edward hesitated to release his true answer, as though he could not trust people enough. To tell of the murderous bomb in this world, and for it to be suspected by he and his brother to be in the U.S... the man before him would definitely acknowledge Edward as a lunatic. An insane madman.Edward had spent hours and hours of heated debate and discussion with Alphonse, whether he should become a government official so he could receive more access and information into reliable, noteworthy sources - and they had come to temporarily comfortable conclusions.

As an investigator, he would not actually be sent to war, but rather simply look into war crimes and miscellaneous barbarous activities, like a stuck-up nosed child digging into other people's private businesses. But why not? He had been searching forone goddamn yearfor that stupid bomb, and still, he had not a single clue! _This is turning into another Philosopher's Stone_, he had too often vehemently thought as he racked his brains for an alternate solution. But what could he do? As an investigator, he could travel without paying his expenses (mostly), and also, he would obtain as much necessary information as allowed to the impossibly placed whereabouts of the unknown bomb. They didn't care if it would helpbring this world to peace or stop thewar or _anything_ - but that bomb definitely had to go.Edward and Alphonse simply could not allow such an abhorred, such a disastrous thing todetonate - a worthy end of the world, definitely so. But then was aroused the question of what they should to with Noah, which would be answered later, they had both decided.

"I feel like my talents lie elsewhere," Ed replied. "Not in fighting, but in solving."

Mustang eyed Edward suspiciously, as though to dig out the verytruth from peering into Ed's very eyes, his very soul. A fierce stare was returned, and the chief officer leaned back reasurringly, a smile playfully tickling his lips. His hands were a wide ocean when they dropped the paperwork to the area of the desktop where glass was securely encased, his eyes a vast solar system with particular plans for the young man when glancing at Edward. Uneasy, Edward dared himself the question.

"So ... am I in?"

Mustang wholeheartedly laughed and waved a hand for Ed's dismissal, a constant beckoning of the torturous cases he was soon to engulf Edward - or so he sensed. "You'll receive your results in a week. Come to my office at one o'clock Friday and then we'll talk business."

"Thank you."

Edward secretly cursed for having to wait another awkward, terrifying week in the tumultuous streets of New York; where shoe polishers would grovel for his boots to shine and taxis would honk for his bottom to ride. The buildings all around him were horrifyingly tall (reminding him thus he was horrifyingly small), people would push and shove and act like the true saints of the devil, and above it all - Alphonse and Noah actually seemed to enjoy the wretched city. As loud as a donkey, as rude as a mule, as revolting as a slug, and yet - as different as a universe, New York was something Ed had never before seen - and never will - witness another quite like it. The people were bees, buzzing constantly around in a flurry of car wings to arrive at their destination, and the buildings were merely the many hives they could so easily choose from, and not to mention the honey - the infinitely importantmoney. Yes, New York was something different - no, the United States was something different. As agonizingly and painfully slow Ed, Al, and Noah had come to learn English, they all had to (Edward grudgingly) admit, the language was well worth the reward.

Edward bowed as Mustang swung his chair around to face his window, which displayed a spectacular 13-story-view of the mulling city, the reflection of the windows winking back like stars. He quickly left the office and came face-to-face with an anxiously waiting Alphonse and softly smiling Noah, waiting oh-so-loyally for the surely brilliant news. And brilliant news they received.

"I think I'm in," Edward said reasurringly, grinning from ear to ear. "Though Mustang still annoys the hell out of me, I suppose dealing with him again won't be as bad as last time." Alphonse broke into an acknowledging smile and the three carefully went down the elevator, as they were not sure the things were as trustworthy as people claimed, and clambered out of the building and into the beaming sun. Already, people began to call and ignore the trio, but they glided as smoothly as birds in the ever-blue sky down to their hotel, where they would faithfully stay for another week.

**Rizenbul, Amestris**

Pinako laughed as freely as her aging body would allow, with a chortling brawny-muscled Armstrong aiding her in the kitchen. She wore her gray hairtraditionally in an oblong bun (which, she suddenly remembered, Ed had sometimes teased to be an overgrown toothpick), and her apron was no different from her previous scenes, as was theblowing pipe stuck firmly between her teeth, while expertly tossing pancakes up in the air, never missing or ever dropping a scrap of food onto the wooden floor. Armstrong gleamed his familiar magnificence of purple, twinkling stars, his hands busily chopping meat at what seemed incredulously to Pinako's eyes - the speed of light. They were indeed carefree.

"Lady Pinako," the brawny now first lieutenant began, his eyes firmly concentrated on his chopping, "are you not worried for Winry?"

"Why would I be worried about that girl?" Pinako asked. "She's strong and talented. She's going to make a killing out there without me holding her behind."

"Ah, yes," Armstrong admitted. "But this last year ... she's barely been home enough to say hello, with her absorbed in that automail school of hers and all that extensive traveling. I heard that she's graduating after only one year and going to board up in Central temporarily?"

"Yes," Pinako said, smiling contemplatively as she remembered her last, seemingly yesterday visit with her prodigy of a granddaughter. "She's going to taste the experience of the outside world for a few years. After she graduates from Rush Valley University and lives for a while in Central, she's going to come home ... or so she claims. But I have a feeling that new foreigner in her isn't going to go away soon."

"Where in Central will she live?" Armstrong asked ludicrously, as though the very thought of a young woman living completely independently was suicidal. "Does she not know that women her age are the most often attacked of all victims?"

"Oh, don't you worry a thing, Mr. Armstrong," Pinako reasurringly replied, gathering the freshly done pancakes and carefully placing them on the two waiting plates. "Den is going with her."

"And thus you shall live here alone, Lady Pinako?" Armstrong emotionally implored, his eyes tingling with tears of admiration.

"Well...I'll have the other residents of Rizenbul with me. Besides, she said that she would write andcall and visit often."

"So you truly mean to say that you will live in this house - just yourself?"

"Yes."

"What a brave woman you are, Lady Pinako! Truly, the Rockbell family possesses females of outrageous gumption and everlasting courage!"

"Now, now, don't flatter me. I'm just doing what I have been doing for all my life. Speaking of Central, how's that Roy Mustang doing? Winry hasn't sent me much letters or phone calls lately, and it gets annoying not knowing what's happening."

"Well," Armstrong cautiously began, thinking strenuously of what had happened into words, "he's been promoted - considerably, and I don't see why they should not. Roy Mustang has done much for our country, and yet, much of the credit went not to him, but the blasphemous higher officials who did nothing of the sort to protect the people, only themselves. However, he is once again a Colonel. I heard rumors that he is going to be promoted yet again - to a general."

"A general, eh?" Pinako offered a smoke from her pipe which she inhaled deeply. "What about his subordinates? What's happened to them?"

"Following him under his command, reassuringly! Though they have been raised quite a few ranks, they would not dare part with Mustang, their constant superior, for a second, I do say! It isa beautiful bond that ... _cannot _be witnessed elsewhere."

Pinako could only comfort Armstrong with a pat on his head as he wept with the force of a hurricane, though smiling throughout the whole time as his eyes poured outoceans' worthof water. _A general, subordinates, and promising automail mechanic?_ Pinako thought with all the logic and wisdom of her world, her hands still tangling the thorn of her pipe. _It looks like everybody's moved on._

"And what about you, Mr. Armstrong?" Pinako offered, hoping that such a question would distract him from his tumultuous tears. "Where are you now?"

"Oh, Lady Pinako," he smiled happily, pointing to his head towards the sky as though he were an angel worshipping the glory of heaven, "I am a Lieutenant Colonel, and I do my job respectfully well in the city of Lior, of which I currently possess some part of governing. The people there have suffered so, and it is only my greatest wish and desire to help bring them back to the bossom of truth and love!"

Pinako amusedly watched her visting friend cry quite a few more rivers before kindly offering the finished breakfast, which they both satisfyingly ate and enjoyed.

**Central, Amestris**

"Den!" Winry Rockbell cried indignantly, her black buckled shoes stampeding violently upon the wooden house's floor. "Stop running around! Stop!"

The slippery dog barked joyfully and sprang surprisingly gracefully upon the new, leathery, white as milk sofa, and rolled a good five times over it before Winry managed to rescue her sofa from more dog hairs. Unfortunately, not only was hair splattered all over the lovely couch, but paw prints as black as ebony stained the soft plumpness of her temporary sleeping quarters (she was to buy a bed later), and made her groan desparingly at the vigorous washing she was soon to perform. Den tackled the cedar hardwood floor and thoroughly investigated the rest of the one-story house along with the two bathrooms, two bedrooms - one of which Winry would use as her workshop - and spaciously designed garage, Winry chasing his tail all along the way. The walls were a slight peach though the ceiling a full-blown bloodless white, and the added porch and vast backyard which needed tumultuous work but Winry could nevertheless do made the house seem more convenient than ever.

"Den!" Winry panted, leaning over her kneeds. Why were dogs such hard pets to take care of? Why did they have to ruin everything white and perfect? "Stop ... you're going to make our roommate mad ... now!"

Den proceeded to race to the gardens and tear at all the remaining plants. Winry fell into silence as she contemplatively watched her dog chew and spit out all the unnecessary weeds she had earlier planned to rid. However, now that Den was doing all the work for her, she reluctantly decided to clean the mess the ignorant dog had made initially, and firmly closed the door separating the backyard and the house. Den had not even noticed.

"Stay there, okay?" Winry softly whispered into the glass. He did not even notice he was trapped in the large, wooden prison of weed and dirt.

Winry sighed before walking to her restroom to retrieve a pale and mop. The light switched dimly on, reminding Winry to fix the electricity circuits of the house as well. She glanced intensely at her surroundings, well aware that his house was much more than one hundred years old, and yet in such amiable condition, though considerably scratched andintensely webbed with spiders. But Winry Rockbell could do whatever she wanted with the house. It was absolutely no problem to rejuvenate her home into a cleanly, beautiful, admirably new state. Sharing her house with some unknown other was no problem with her, so long as they let her work her way through the night on her automail.

"Time to get to work," she grimaced and began to aid her couch.

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Horrifically long paragraphs, endlessly boring events, and a weird timeline. I need to get myself an editor.

And just in case if anybody is confused, Winry only went to her automail college for one year. Because she's just smart like that. ;D

THIS STORY **WILL** BE FINISHED. IT WILL NOT BE ONE OF THOSE NON-ENDING STORIES.


	2. The Windy House

Look, just … _review_ me if it sucks. Flames are welcome (as long as they are critiquing me).

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"Oh my god," Edward cried, slapping a hand to his face. "Not _again,_ Alphonse. No! I forbid it!"

"Please, brother! Please! It's all over the papers, and you won't believe it – I just have to! Please!" Alphonse begged, dropping down to his knees in a begging stance.

"Al, this is … demoralizing. It's what swingers do. We have to find that bomb that was brought over and destroy it –"

"That could take years, brother, even decades. I don't want this to turn into another Philosopher's Stone! Please, come on, I know you'll like it –"

"Who said I was going? _Hell no!_ You and I _both_ know that you are not going, and that's it, that's _it_ –"

"How do you know if you've never seen it once?"

"You are not going, Al. _Period_."

"I'm going, brother, whether you like it or not!"

"Alphonse! Al – _get your fat ass back here right now_!"

Noah hurriedly followed the two brothers' chase out of their run-down apartments (of which Noah was far too ashamed to describe) and into the streets of high-and-mighty glorious New York City. She ran past street vendors, businessmen, glamorous ladies, the homeless. She ran through the streets full of people and families, cars who honked angrily at her and the brothers, past so many shops and stores that she secretly would enjoy browsing through, but would never admit to anybody, most of all Edward.

Alphonse might understand.

Yes. There was nothing like running through New York City.

The baby blue sky hovered brightly above her, and she noticed a gigantic flock of birds mark their shadows on it. There seemed hundreds of flapping wings beating weightlessly upon her, and for a moment, she was entranced. So many multiplied, all over the sky. What a wonderful city N.Y.C. was!

She darted quickly after Ed and Al, feeling quite at home. Oh, how she loved New York City. From the moment they stepped onto the American shores at Ellis Island, she knew she was home, oh, she knew it! The cascading white seas, the bursting glowing buildings, the lively people, the jazzy sounds of New York blues … there wasn't an end to the heart-stopping glamour and furious, sweeping passion that plagued the city like a flu without a leash, contaminating every resident that caught whiff of its dangerously addictive scent.

There were so many markets, so many busy crowds, and so many _things _and _experiences _that she felt as though her heart was going to pop with desperation to see, to hear, to be – all of it! All! It was all so different, so exciting. It was such a novelty, traveling to this "crazy country" and becoming part of it.

And, thank god, nobody cared. Nobody cared she was a gypsy, a Roman, an outcast. Nobody, nobody cared.

New York City! New York City! Of course, she held within her pleasures with fiercely discreet measure, taking care to enjoy this bewitching feeling simply by herself. She greedily wished to share this emotion of everlasting happiness and belonging to only … herself. New York City!

They were going to a club. Oh, finally, she had selfishly longed and longed to see one of those seductive, fantastic performances of which New York had become infamous. She wanted to see those naughty bob haircuts that revolted and harassed the older generation; she wanted to see those outrageously short dresses girls wore that hung showily above the knees and called out to every young man in the nation, white, black, and Jew; she wanted to hear those aspiring voices call out to her, make her forget all the misery that had forgotten itself back in Germany and was being quickly replaced by a soulful, powerful need to find her place in the New World; she wanted to see a club!

_Oh, Alphonse,_ Noah thought blissfully. _How can I ever thank you for this?_

Meanwhile, Edward was perfectly insane with anger. There outta be a law! Whoever heard of boys sprouting hormones at the age of sixteen? There was something damn wrong about this country. The young population was so hyper, so … so full of nasty. Not that Edward really cared, as it wasn't in a scientist's nature to care about society. Scientists were generally above this riffraff nonsense, clubs and whatnot. Seriously, it was degrading.

But as much as he hated to admit it, he secretly wanted to go too.

But that would be _so_ wrong!

And how the hell did Al's leg unshrink another five inches? Every time he took a step, Ed would get terribly frustrated but would not say anything, as he was now mature enough to realize that some dreams were never meant to come true, but would remain stubbornly uncooperative for much of the time, as the length of his stride was nowhere close to the size of Alphonse's. Especially now that the whole "Shambala" fiasco was over, Ed _could_ afford to moon over his height problem. And get his temper back.

Al was clearly enjoying the chase. Ed noticed which drove him nearly past the border of annoyance, at how frequently he flashed a pretty smile in the direction of a watching girl, who always giggled and winked in return.

Goodness knows, how much more conceited can a guy get? With honey-waxen brown hair and deep, light olive eyes that would drown any girl into a whirlpool of love, Al was becoming dangerously aware of the female species. Ed _seriously_ had to do something about this!

And first thing was to track him down and explain that media and gossip was overbearingly _not_ a scientist's "thing". It was not "rad" to act "funky" in front of "flappers" and "hang down" with the "betty's". Ugh ... ew. Just how much more literal could Edward become?

He felt embarrassingly like an overprotective father who was struggling to hide his son's gender to the doctor but instead only got a mouthful of guy-things. _Not_ literally. Al had merely raised two large eyebrows at Ed a few days ago when he attempted to present his logic in a clear, scientific, understandable presentation, and laughed and slapped his brother's back and remarked at how Ed would one day realize he was still single.

"You need a girlfriend, brother," Al smiled sympathetically, the corners of his mouth twitching with controlled delight.

Edward attempted to ignore Alphonse's advice and continue to pressure him into changing his "demoralizing" ways, but it wasn't long until Ed finally realized that Al maybe honestly did like girls. Hopefully, it wasn't as serious as attending strip clubs and purchasing flirty magazines with naked images of slut models on every damn page, but Ed could live with the unbearable fact that his younger brother was simply more sexually aware than Ed would ever hope to be.

But he still, nevertheless, flipped out when Al told him he wanted to go to his first club.

---

A tall girl with slightly curly, short blonde hair and mysterious, dark-green eyes stood lazily at the podium, her shadowy red lipstick occasionally being lapped at by her flicking scarlet tongue.

She was wearing a smoothly cut dress that fanned out like a silk quilt behind her legs, then arching sharply up into an upside-down V. Thousands upon thousands of shimmery, long gold pieces clung to her dress like Velcro, sparkling like champagne against the edgy blackness of her dress. She wore few gold bracelets, necklaces, and anklets, while situated upon thin, wiry-looking black heels embossed with golden lace curvaceously twisting and curling about her shoes.

The girl looked very beautiful, and very mysterious.

She stole a carefree gaze at her band members. There was Harvey Whitman, the talented black piano player, whose throaty voice could drown out a thousand seas and lure listeners like bees to honey.

Then came Andre Cutlass, a young black teenager no older than 18 and yet already the size of a two-ton whale, responsible for singing aloud the jazzy purr of the saxophone.

Bartholomew, last name unknown, was the oldest member and also the only white person in the band, besides herself; sixty years had been merciless on this withering man, and despite all his wrinkles, arthritis, and fatigue with old age, he still played the double bass like wild kangaroo.

And then there was Libbs Strong, the second oldest on the band but one with the most soul and love you could ever pour from a trombone.

And finally, pity to anyone who believed he or she could outplay Jengo Danuwa, a quiet, peaceful African who had escaped from his homeland to America; he could still bang the drums to his own heartbeat.

She returned to face the red curtains and heard the padded beats of feet shuffling on the dance floor. People were itching to dance. She was waiting to sing.

Finally, after quietness had settled over the boisterous audience, Jengo started the first beat as the ruby curtains opened slowly to reveal the _Swing Bunch_. The band stared at the rather small club, only able to hold no more than forty people, thickly enveloped in darkness in contrast to the limelight on stage.

_Dun. Da da dun. Da da dun. Da da dun. Da da dun-bun. Da da dun. Da da dun. Da da dun-bum,_ tapped the drums.

_La-fa la ma re-lo re do mi la-ra,_ the saxophone sweetened the drums with its Saturday night soul.

In jumped the trumpet, bass, trombone, and piano, humming out tunes like an overplayed music box, swinging the music suddenly up high, then dipping it way down low like a dancer sweeping her feet off into the clouds, as the band would suddenly disappear – for a second! – then with the reintroduction again, greeting each and every audience member with a roar of _looooooo!_, or a whir of _breeeeeeee!_, each sound ringing to new heights, until suddenly, it seemed like the world couldn't go 'round and 'round anymore. With a sweep of _bun!,_ and a kick of _slooooo,_ the club bubbled over like a rain cloud and the whole dance floor was sweating, breathing with people and jazz. Then, out of the deep blue, sang a voice of sparkling champagne and high class wine.

"_Honey, baby, I come to thee,"_ she drawled, _"hurry up running out of juice-er-ie, won't you quickly take me up high, in a starlight sky. Lover damned you're out of this world, coming in from Ju-pi-ter, come on let's go for a ride, in a starlight sky. Ba-da-la-ba-da-do-do! Ba-da-sa-do-oh-no-oh! Sugar baby you fly me so right, in a starlight sky-y-y-y-YYY!"_

Her voice breached above the crowd and floated there for a few seconds before returning to the earth, and the saxophone returned to the limelight with a few devilish tricks of its own, carrying the shine of the sun on its back as it blew up way out loud past all the airplanes and the blimps to a place we humans called heaven, where only the soulful, drowsy-headed song of the sax played and humans did not deserve to sing.

Until the rest of the band hopped up with the saxophone and began a new, robust, lively tune that sent all the angels tapping their bare toes and wishing they had shoes, but somehow it managed to bring itself back down to earth to the cheering and whistling audience below.

The band bowed graciously, their bottoms sticking fully up to the air before rising again. However, before the curtains closed once again, the girl suddenly caught the eye of a handsome, brown-haired boy with startling, olive-gray eyes that hummed out melodies of heart and romance that she almost found herself tumbling and keeling over with surprise.

Or love?

---

Alphonse had finally been caught by his brother when he threw a screw at him (which looked suspiciously like Winry's handiwork), but could only giggle with pleasure that they had stopped conveniently directly in front of the club. Edward looked ghastly at the entrance, and after several unsuccessful attempts to drag his brother's body away from there which would have done as much good as if he had taken a button and threw it at the back of his head, he finally agreed to simply wait outside until Alphonse was done watching. And yes, Noah could go too.

Alphonse was slightly upset that his brother adamantly refused to go into that "sick place for strippers", but nevertheless took Noah's gleeful hand in his own, and, feeling light as a balloon, walked into the dim cave of the _Windy House_ as an immediate noise bubble popped and words filed spontaneously every inch of his head. He plowed his way through the crowd and ordered two beers, one for him and Noah.

Immediately, he noticed that the bartender was none other than an alternate _Greed,_ of all people! Well, most people here were good. Thank goodness. However, he still had a steely glint in his eye that reminded Alphonse of those bulky men who wore orange, lifting heavy iron weights and building up the mass in their muscles.

As the pair downed the beers and ignored the bartender, they watched the amazing performance of the jazz band, of which they had arrived incredulously _timely_. Their first simultaneous thought was that the band was rather dowdy-looking, like a group of cowboys sat to endure ten hours of lecture notes; all the members were so starkly different in size, race, and looks!

However, as they performed, all doubts vanished unlike the forgotten beer, and though both wanted badly to dance, Noah did not know pair dancing and Alphonse was altogether ignorant in the ways of graceful footwork. Instead, they both stared longingly at the band with an unknown feeling of passion and wonder, wanting desperately to sway like two lovers with the jazz as well (just to appear that way, although both were still slightly off from receiving crushes on each other).

When they ended, however, the girl suddenly looked at Alphonse dead in the eye, and for a desperate, fleeting moment, Al believed he had just witnessed the lyrical performance of Winry Rockbell.

---

In another world, the Winry Rockbell was just lovingly patting shininess of her wrench when Hansel Deidrick slouched into the workroom and securely wrapped his arms around her back, breathing in the smell of her hair.

"You smell bad this morning," he mumbled sleepily, his voice winded down and hoarse as a cricket (though they're not actually hoarse) from last night's activities, and Winry could only cuff him on his neck and respond, "Well, what did you expect? Gosh, you were such an animal!"

Hansel smiled slyly and Winry turned around, kissing him with love and sincerity she knew the poor boy had never known before in his life. He hugged her protectively, a man shielding his lover from the world, and carried her back to the couch where they had shared a lasting experience. When they finished kissing each other, he laughed and threw her onto his back, completely surprising Winry as she felt her face slam into his bottom with the force of a buffalo.

Blushing, she cried, "Oh my God – put me down!"

Hansel only tightened his hold on her legs and only responded, "You didn't answer my question last night."

"Are you crazy? Do you know what you'll do to me if I do?"

"Answer my question."

"Three more years," Winry giggled, slapping his butt cheeks. "I'll tell you a straight answer then."

"Man, Winry, say it now!" Hansel whooped, and span dizzily around the room, Winry wild with laughter. He was clutching her knees on top of his shoulders and tornado-ing in fast, quirky circles, and he could only toot and whistle whenever Winry squealed, "Hansel, my hair's sticking up! Stop!"

Suddenly, he felt his right knee buckle and he dropped heavily to the ground, feeling like a heavy stone, and worried momentarily as Winry hit the floor with a hurt, "Oof!" He let go of her legs and rushed by her side. "Winry?"

Pause. "I'm never dating you again," she mumbled sardonically. Hansel laughed and playfully rubbed her head.

"Sorry, I guess it got to my head."

He picked her up bridal-style and caressed the top of her hair with his cheek before dropping her unceremoniously onto the couch. He ignored the high-pitched protests she cried out and rushed into the bathroom, but not before pausing at the doorway and winking mischievously at Winry, who had just gotten up to chase him.

"Hansel – oh my God. Why am I even trying?" she mumbled to herself with amusement. "Hey, what do you want for breakfast?"

"_All I want for breakfast – is you-u-u,"_ he sang. _"All I want –"_

"Fine! Raw eggs and … anchovies. Your favorite."

Hansel yelped and put down his face towel, hurrying out of the stall and gave a large, wet kiss on Winry's lips. As he let go, he stared deeply into her merry, velvety blue eyes that reminded him of the vast, soft blanket of sea he had grown up sailing, and smiled the heartfelt smile that Winry had fallen into at first sight. "Madam Winry's Famous Black-Fried Omelette? For the pretty lady and handsome sir?"

She laughed and replied, "For the handsome sir."

As she love-sickly straddle-walked her way to the kitchen, Hansel looked fondly at her and returned to the kitchen to finish his daily morning wash-up. When he finished, he stared steadily at his reflection, glaring at all his unhappy features. What did Winry see in this man? What about a poor merchant like he was loveable to a strong, beautiful, aspiring young engineer such as she? He wished he was rich and powerful like her friend, Roy Mustang.

He walked out of the bathroom and into her room to change. However, while sifting through his clothes and feeling unsatisfied, he grinned suddenly and peeked into Winry's Absolutely Off-Limits Lingerie Drawer.

"_Whoo,"_ he whistled, throwing a pink bra onto the bed. How come she never wore that when he came over?

Suddenly, his hand stopped. Right there, underneath the piles of lingerie and imposing underwear, was a black leather photo album. Curious, he lifted it into his hands and examined the red spine. It was cracked in several different places and incredibly old and he had never known Winry to be a sentimental person.

He opened to the first page. A musty smell of oil and dust swirled into the air. Hansel grunted and squinted at a very old, black-and-white image of Winry. There was an old woman behind her wearing circular glasses with her gray hair tied in a bun and was (to his amusement) fat. Winry was hugging a baby version of her dog Den, and he thought her eyes could never have looked bluer in a black-and-white photograph.

He flipped to the next page and saw more of Winry's life. Her parents disappeared after only five pictures, and Den began to retain his automail leg. Hansel was surprised that Den had lost his leg at such a young age, and felt sorry for the poor old begger. There were also two boys, whom he assumed were Winry's brothers. There were occasionally another woman in the image, always holding hands with one of the boys' hands, and he wondered if she was Winry's aunt. Or new guardian?

_Why hasn't she shown any of this to me before?_ He wondered uncomfortably. There were so many memories, so many snapshots of her life, and he strickenly realized, Winry had never shared her past with him. It was unfair. He poured his whole history to her, even before the day he was born. Why didn't Winry trust him?

There were more pictures that intrigued him terribly. One of the boys suddenly possessed an automail arm and leg and the other boy had disappeared completely and a suit of armor instead began to pop out of nowhere instead. Then, the armor and the automail boy was gone altogether. More boys walked in and out of her life, all holding hands with her or hugging her tightly across the shoulders, but as Hansel noted smugly, none of them stayed for long.

Memories. All of them Winry's. There went her high school prom. And now she had just graduated from a school (he presumed it was in Rush Valley). And here she was … whoa. Looking great in a swimsuit at a day in the beach. Then she had several photos of her fixing automail for several people. And what in the world was _this_? Winry, French-_kissing_ with another _boy_? Why the hell did she even take a picture of that? Hansel ought to rip it out of her stupid book for good!

When he had finished, he grumbled, "Man, Winry," stowing the book safely away into her drawer. He cracked his knuckles for good measure and pouted silently for a few minutes. However, he then heard the door behind him creak and squeezing his eyes, he turned around and received a full body-slam with a silvery object, followed by a furiously angry, "HANSEEEEL!"

"Winry!" he moaned piteously, to himself.

--- ---

I know, I know. WAY too long since I've last updated this. Well, sue me.

Haha, I COMPLETELY changed the story's plot … Winry in this world was supposed to be a 12-year-old Irish girl with a 21-year-old brother back from the war and whatever … but I was like, nah. I like her better all grown up (haha, wink wink).

But seriously, I want some CRITICISM!! I'm not sure about my story and I want to finish it but if it's bad, then I'll have a sucky story on my record and, whoa, thank the Devil if that's ever going to happen.

Okay … anyways … I love Alphonse's character. Isn't he such a player? I love him!

And Noah is great. She's been pushed around her whole life and finally, when she has a chance to fit in and become a part of "this world," she takes it, totally.

And for you Winry-haters, if you do hate her, you'll love her in this story. Both of them. She is like, so cool!

Hansel will remain a major character in this story. I'll draw a picture of him and post it on my next chapter … he's really cute, ladies. I know! I love his name too ;).

Aaaaaaaand – the JAZZ AGE!! Read _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald for more insight into this wonderful period of life, fashion, and music that rocked America in the 1920s.


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